Vivisepulture
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: Tim remembers the brilliant flash of light and the blinding pain but nothing else.


**Vivisepulture  
**

**A Word**: A specific request for a JayTim ending to Tim being buried alive in a coffin and having to break free.

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Tim wakes up in a coffin.

The padding cradling his body and the sense of crushing _weight_ is to prominent to ignore. The feel of his best suit against his skin a story in an of itself. Something in Tim's mind laughs. Uncontrollably and it almost escapes him, because he's _alive_. The remembered flash of light and heat that he _knows_ was his end seems distant with the utter lack of pain in his body now.

Panic and fear bubble up in Tim as he presses up against the lid of his coffin. Almost blinding in intensity. Is this how Jason felt when he came back? Choking on his panic as he tried to figure out how to get out before suffocating. Tried to _feel_ how strong the coffin was, how easy it might be to break his way out. Wondering if there was a concrete vault around it.

Dirt trickles over Tim's fingers as he feels lower. It's a wave of cold ice over the gibbering panic.

There's dirt in his coffin.

The join of the lid is buckled slightly. Bowing in under the weight of the dirt above it. He's not been encased in a vault, and his coffin isn't the most expensive one on the market. Tim feels his face stretch in a smile.

After Jason, Tim had done his research.

There's nothing in his suit pockets. Nothing in the coffin itself and that seems irresponsible considering the rate at which people come back from the dead. Though, to be fair, he thinks Jason is the only one who has done that straight from the grave.

He strips out of the suit jacket. Trying not to think too much about the fact that it's been altered and comes off easily due to the fact that it's cut in the back. The button down shirt he's wearing is the same, and the tie is a clip on. He isn't wearing an undershirt. Tim rips the shirt up a bit more. Enough to get long strips to tie around his nose and mouth. He hesitates over making one for his eyes before tearing another strip. It's too dark to see anyway.

He pulls himself up as far as he can in the coffin. Until he can kick out at the already partially collapsed section. It's awkward. He can't get the leverage he needs to force a hole in the lid with one kick. It takes four before Tim feels the rush of dirt coming in increase. He kicks down. Shoving the dirt to the foot of the coffin before kicking out again. Feeling the lid cave under his feet until the gap seems large enough.

Dirt still pours into the coffin as Tim shifts back down. He pushes it away. Packing it into the unused portions of the head and foot of the coffin. He reaches up when the trickle slows and feels a good ten inches of clear space outside before his fingers hit dirt. He digs his fingers in and pulls. There's not enough space yet for Tim to sit up.

The dirt comes down easily. It's still loose and hasn't had time to settle and compact. Tim takes it as a good sign as he pushes dirt down with his bare foot. The fancy dress shoes he'd been put in abandoned quickly. He's bothered by the fact that he's not wearing socks, but comfort for a corpse probably doesn't matter much to funeral home workers.

Tim has to curl up slightly on his side before there's enough room for him to get his head and upper body out of the coffin. The scent of moist earth, present in the coffin, is overwhelming as he twists out. Trying to avoid the sharp edges of the lid, but scraping his back badly enough that Tim's not surprised to feel warm liquid -blood- rolling down his back when his head hits the upper part of the cavity he's dug out.

The dirt shifts with the slight push and Tim works his arms out next. Pulling himself up enough that he's crouching. He sinks his fingers into the dirt above his head again and rakes down. Scooping armfuls of dirt down and shoving it under his legs until he can pull himself out. Bare feet slipping slightly on the smooth metal of the coffin before he gets his balance.

Tim pauses and assesses. He can keep digging and packing the dirt under him. A slow action that'll get him free before his air runs out. Or he can push through it. The dirt is loose enough that he can push straight up and get most of the way out in a matter of minutes.

Tim feels fine. He feels better than fine actually, and that brings up thoughts about what might have brought him back that Tim pushes aside for the moment. He's not injured or in any pain at all. He's confident in his strength and the dirt that he can pull himself free. Tim takes a deep breath and shoves his hands up above his head. Locking the elbows in place and standing.

The dirt parts reluctantly and standing is a slow business. Dirt presses against his face. Close and suffocatingly tight. It gets harder to stand and Tim spreads his arms slightly. Pushing the dirt aside even as he reaches up. Dirt pools around his feet and Tim kicks free of it. Shifting them to push it down and push himself up.

The fingers of his right hand meet resistance. Tim pushes harder and feels something like fine threads give before he feels open air and coarse grass. His hand pushes through to open air and Tim feels a surge of elation. The grass shifts as he grips it, but it's steady enough for him to grab and pull. His left hand breaking through seconds later. Dirt crumbles under his feet but Tim pushes and pulls. Inching himself up almost painfully as the dirt seems to push in even tighter around him. Tim breathes in short bursts.

Hands close around Tim's wrists. Sudden and hard. Tim flinches before letting go of the ground to grab back as he's pulled up. His shoulders twinge at the yanking motion but Tim bears with it as his head clears the ground and his next breath is cool.

"Jesus!" The hands slide down. Going into the dirt to grab him under his arms and Tim wraps his own around a broad back. Hard and covered in leather. Tim doesn't need anything more than that to know who's yanking him out of the hole he was buried in. "No, no, no. Fuck, Tim!"

Tim gets to his knees in grass that's wet with dew that completely soaks the pants he's wearing. Rough hands rip the tattered shirt away from his face and Tim blinks in the faint light from the stars and moon. Jason looks _furious_. His hands bruising as they go from his face to his neck. Fingers pressing hard against the pulse point. "Oh fuck, Tim. No. Not you."

"Jay," Tim chokes on the name. Coughs at the dryness in his throat and shaking from it. He doesn't stop shaking when the coughing subsides. Not even when Jason pulls him in for a tight hug. "I. I died. Right?"

The details are fuzzy but seem important now that he can turn his head and see his own tombstone. His name carved in white granite along with his dates. He can't make out the epitaph in the faint light. Not without getting closer, and Jason's not letting Tim go anytime soon.

"You never should have," Jason is angry. Tim can hear it in his voice, and can clearly hear the pain hiding below it. His fingers dig into Tim's bare back. One catching in the scrape on his lower back painfully. "You shouldn't have gone through that."

"I'm," Tim chokes on lies. He's not alright, he won't be alright for a while he thinks. But that's for later. The problems and issues too far away for Tim to worry about. Tim clings to Jason. Feeling soothed by the fine tremors going through the older man. "Thank you."

"Fuck," Jason grits out and stands. Pulling Tim with him and not letting go at all. "You just-"

Tim's knees wobble before strengthening and holding his weight. He can see the cemetery now. It's empty. Flowers and cards scattered at the base of his tombstone. A glowing ember catches his eye. A still lit cigarette lies next to a small pile of butts. Far more than should be there for a single night. Some of the cards are warped from moisture, and the flowers are becoming withered. "Were you," Tim turns back to Jason, but the man's holding him too tight to see his face, "waiting?"

Jason laughs, and it's broken and _off_. He squeezes tight before stepping back. Tim feels cold even as he locks onto Jason's face. The dark grin he has as he laughs again. "I fucking knew. I _knew_ this shit'd happen again," Jason doesn't stop looking at Tim, his right hand still curled around Tim's upper arm. "I've _been_ there, Tim. I fucking _know_ what it looks like, but those fuckers wouldn't _listen_ to me. They wouldn't wait!"

It doesn't make sense in any way Tim can explain logically, but feels perfectly right. And, of course, no one would give Jason's words much weight without good solid evidence. Even though they _should_ have. There's precedence, after all, for what happens when one family member is dismissed as sounding too crazy.

Tim shivers in a cold wind and puts that aside too. He's got all the time in the world to think about this later. "I'm cold."

"Of course you are," Jason mutters and shucks his jacket off. Wrapping it around Tim himself and not entirely removing his arms. "It sticks around for a while."

Experience. Tim can hear it in his voice. "What stops it?"

"You'll find something," Jason says as he moves. Pulling Tim in against his side and urging him away towards the cemetery exit. Tim goes willingly. Still shivering as he loses sight of the stone and the gaping hole in the ground. "Something always chases it away."

Tim believes him.

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End file.
